


Lost And Found

by umakoo



Series: Trucker AU [2]
Category: Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Mild Daddy Kink, Underage Sex, trucker AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 15:02:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/941358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umakoo/pseuds/umakoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>There was a fifteen year old runaway (sixteen in three months! as Tom kept reminding him, as if that made any difference) in a rundown motel room in the middle of nowhere, waiting for Chris to come back with dinner and clean clothes.</i>
</p><p><i>He could just picture the ridiculously large eyes brimming with tears when Tom finally realized Chris wouldn’t be coming back.</i> </p><p>A sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/823325">the trucker AU</a> I wrote for hurricanewinds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost And Found

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains dark elements, underage sex, some mentions of past abuse and a relationship with a big age difference. Please, heed the warnings.
> 
> Hugs and love to schaudwen and beckerbell for the beta <3

Chris sat in his truck, staring at the window of the motel room, the only one currently occupied. The glare from the tv cast jumping shadows on the thin curtains, but Chris couldn’t see any other movement inside.

He could still bail. The engine of the truck was still running. He could just get back on the road and keep driving.

Chris took a swig of whiskey from his flask, shaking his head as he caught his reflection in the rear-view mirror.

_What the hell are you doing?_

There was no version of this bullshit situation that didn’t end badly for Chris. Was he seriously about to risk ending up with a criminal record for a goddamn teenager? His life was far from perfect, but was one blowjob and a fuck in the back of his truck really all it took to make him throw it all away?

Chris took another swig of whiskey, grunting at the burning sensation in his throat. He should just drive to the nearest town with a strip club and forget the last 24 hours ever even happened. Problem solved.

“Yeah…”

Chris wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and tossed the flask to the empty seat next to him, switched to first gear and pressed his foot down on the gas pedal. The headlights cleaved the darkness as he steered the truck across the parking lot to the highway.

 

Ten miles later, he hit the breaks.

The truck jolted and rolled on for another fifty feet before coming to a full stop. Chris leaned his forehead against the steering wheel and squeezed his eyes shut. He felt like he was going to be sick. There was a fifteen year old runaway ( _sixteen in three months!_  as Tom kept reminding him, as if that made any difference) in a rundown motel room in the middle of nowhere, waiting for Chris to come back with dinner and clean clothes.

He could just picture the ridiculously large eyes brimming with tears when Tom finally realized Chris wouldn’t be coming back.

And he knew then that it wasn’t the sex. It wasn’t the blowjob. It was the fucking crying and the pathetic pleas and the kicked puppy vibe that had gotten to him from the moment he had laid eyes on Tom, all bruised up in the gas station bathroom.

“Fuck…”

Chris turned the truck around at the first empty lot he came across and drove back to the motel. He parked next to the half-broken “vacancy” sign, grabbed the food he’d gotten at the nearby convenience store and rummaged around in the sleeper for some clothes he could borrow for Tom.

 

The tv was still on, but the sound had been turned down and the room was quiet except for the soft snoring coming from the bed near the window. The other bed was full of empty candy wrappers and half-eaten snacks from the vending machine in the lobby. Chris winced at the mental image of Tom curled on the bed, eating candy bar after candy bar as the hours passed, waiting for Chris to return.

He set the clothes and the food on the small table near the door and walked into the toilet to take a piss.

“What the hell?”

The counter was stained with splashes of what looked like black hair dye and the sink and the floor in front of it were covered in curly hair.

Chris glanced over his shoulder to see Tom sitting up in the bed. The boy turned the lamp on the nightstand on and Chris’ eyes widened at the sight of his sheared hair, now inky black instead of blond. It seemed Tom was more determined to keep a low profile than Chris had realized.

“You’re back,” Tom said, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. Chris felt his stomach turn at the audibly relieved tone in the kid’s voice. “I was starting to think you’d left me here.”

“Sorry, but I… I had some things I needed to take care of.” Chris turned the tv off as he walked across the room and took a seat at the foot of Tom’s bed. “I got you some food and spare clothes from the truck. They’re gonna be a little big, but at least they’re clean.”

“Thanks,” Tom beamed, inching a little closer to press his palm against Chris’ knee.

Chris watched the hand move up along his thigh. “It was nothing,” he grunted, placing Tom's hand on the bed, doing his best to ignore the rejected look on the boy’s face.

“So, what’s this?” Chris asked, pointing at what remained of Tom’s curly hair.

“Do you like it?” Tom smiled, running his fingers through the uneven strands of black hair. His cheeks began to turn pink as he waited for Chris’ approval. “I don’t look too emo or anything?”

Chris had no idea what Tom was talking about, but he shook his head, guessing that was the response the boy wanted. The short haircut made Tom’s ears stick out of his head in an almost endearing manner and the new color made him look even paler than before, which in turn caused the bruise around his cheekbone to appear a shade darker.

Changing his hair would not stop the cops from coming after Tom, but Chris kept the thought to himself, not wanting to upset the kid.

“It’s a little uneven in the back, but I can help you fix that in the morning,” Chris said. “Where’d you get the dye?”

“I, uh, I kinda stole it from that store we stopped by this afternoon.“

“What? You  _stole_  it? Why didn’t you just ask me to get it for you?”

Tom worried his bruised lip between his teeth, his eyes fixed on the worn carpet. “I’m sorry.” He wrapped his arms around his torso, drawing his knees up, making himself small. “Are you angry?”

 _Oh fuck._  Chris hurried to shake his head. “No, I’m not angry, but-- Look, no more stealing, ok?” Chris said, patting Tom on the shoulder. “If you need something, just tell me.” He got up to remove his flannel shirt and the t-shirt underneath it, feeling Tom’s eyes on his naked back as he headed for the bathroom. “I’m gonna take a quick shower. There’s food in the bag if you’re still hungry.”

 

Chris used paper towels to clean the hair around the sink, not wanting the maid to see the mess and wonder why the kid in room 7 would change their hair in a motel bathroom. The shower stall was almost too small for a man of his size, but it felt like a luxury after most of the truck stop showers he normally washed himself in. He grabbed the cheap motel shampoo from the small niche in the tiled wall, letting out a frustrated groan when he realized Tom had already used over half of the bottle’s contents.

Chris wasn’t used to sharing things with someone. He hadn’t even had a steady relationship in years, just quick fucks on the road and some one-night stands between hauls. He spent most of his days on the road, driving across the country, eating shitty food and sleeping in the back of his truck. There simply wasn’t room for anyone in his life.

The thought made Chris’ jaw clench, reminding him of the mess he was getting into with Tom. It was one thing to fuck him, but there was no excuse for whatever the hell was starting to develop between them.

Chris always made sure not to get involved with the people he took to bed while he was on the job. Most of them were sad single mothers he met at bars and lot lizards prowling at truck stops, some of them barely legal and in desperate need of a quick buck or a warm meal. And Chris couldn’t deny liking naïve little things like Tom, pliant and eager to please, but the guilt was easier to deal with when you didn’t know their names.

Chris finished his shower and reached for a towel, hating how most motel towels were always too small for him, barely enough to cover his thighs. He wiped at the steam that had gathered on the mirror and ran the cheap comb Tom had left on the sink through his overgrown hair, slicking it back behind his ears. He was in desperate need of a shave, but he’d forgotten his bathroom kit in the truck, so it was going to have to wait. Chris stared at his reflection in the mirror, frowning as his gaze fixed on the few graying spots in his beard.

He felt like a fucking cradle robber.

 

Chris stepped out of the bathroom, holding on to his towel to keep it from slipping. “Look, kid, I, uh- “

Tom was lying on Chris’ bed on his stomach, his underwear and the old Transformers shirt left in a bundle on the floor next to the candy wrappers. Chris noticed there was a bottle of lube on the nightstand, and since it wasn’t Chris’ brand, he figured Tom had stolen that too.

He felt his cheeks warm up at the wanton way the kid was spread out on the bed, offering himself to Chris. He reached for the bag of clothes and hurried to pull out his old Metallica t-shirt, handing it to Tom.

“Get dressed, ok?”

“Dressed?” Tom crawled up to a sitting position, giving Chris a confused look. “But I wanted to thank you... I can't pay for the food and the clothes in any other way.”

Chris ignored the very clear offer for sex and put the shirt on Tom, noting it was at least three sizes too big on him, hanging on his skinny frame like a tent.

“Are you going to make me leave?” Tom asked in a small voice, squeezing the hem of the shirt in his hands.

“Listen, Tom, we-- we need to talk.” Chris wound the towel tighter around his waist and took a seat on the bed.

He had no idea what he wanted to say, but he knew the situation was already out of control. Chris had to do  _something_ , make some kind of a plan.

“About what?” Tom asked, sounding wary.

“Well, you could start by telling me what happened to you.” The kid had remained pretty quiet about himself for the entire time they had been on the road, and Chris hadn’t pressed him about it until now. “Where the hell do you even live?”

“Nowhere,” Tom grumbled, crossing his arms over the faded logo on the t-shirt.

“What do you mean “nowhere”?” Chris huffed, “of course you live somewhere. You have a home, don’t you?”

Tom kept his mouth shut, kneading the shirt so hard his knuckles were turning white. Chris gave him a slightly exasperated look and it seemed to startle Tom out of his stubborn pout.

“I lived in Denver, ok? But I ran away and I’m not going back to that shit hole! Frank and Debbie weren’t even my real parents.”

“What?”

“It was a foster home.”

“You’re a foster kid?” Chris groaned. He stood up and started pacing in front of the bed, dripping water all over the carpet. “This is great. The CPS is gonna come after my ass…”

Tom jumped up from the bed, grabbing Chris’ arm, tugging at it desperately as Chris continued to pace. “Please, let me stay with you. I’ll be so good to you. I’ll clean your house and cook for you and run all your errands and I’ll be your good boy and-“

"Stop it. This isn’t a game, ok?” Chris exclaimed, yanking his hand free. “I can’t take care of you… I can’t-“ Chris squeezed his eyes shut, carding his fingers through his hair. The reality of the situation was starting to overwhelm him. “I live in the middle of nowhere and you- you gotta finish school and I just, I can’t have a fifteen year old boyfriend.”

“I told you, I’m almost sixteen.”

“That doesn’t make any difference, I’m still the bad guy here. Just because I cleaned your wounds and gave you a ride doesn’t mean I’m good for you. What the hell does a kid like you even see in an old man like me?”

“You’re not old,” Tom insisted.

“Tom, I’m more than twice your age,” Chris laughed, sounding a little hysterical.

“I don’t care!” Tom cried out. He forced himself into Chris' personal space and twined his skinny arms around his waist. “I don’t care,” Tom repeated, and Chris was taken aback by how sincere and determined the boy sounded.

He looked to his right and caught their reflection in the mirror above the dresser near the door. Tom was so small in his arms. Chris could feel a strange ache in his chest, a sense of protectiveness he’d never experienced before.

He watched himself in the mirror as his left hand rose up and settled behind Tom’s neck. There were still some soft curls left at the nape and Chris felt them with the tips of his calloused fingers.

“Please,” Tom whispered. “I’ll be so good, I’ll do everything you say, I promise.”

Chris looked down and the moment he met Tom’s eyes, he could feel his resolve crumbling.

 

**

 

Chris woke up as the mattress in his bed dipped and bounced lightly. He cracked open one sleep-bleary eye to see Tom sitting at the foot of the bed, his naked body pale in the cool light of the early morning. The way his thighs were spread did nothing to hide the erection jutting between his legs.

Chris decided to feign sleep, but he continued to watch through half closed eyelids as Tom took hold of the old, flower printed covers on the bed and began to pull them aside as carefully as he could. The blanket slid down his body and Chris had to bite back a groan as he felt the sheet move against his dick. He realized he was as hard as the boy, his morning wood tenting the fabric; Chris could guess what had lured Tom out of his own bed.

There was a small voice in the back of his mind that tried to remind Chris of the dark path he was about to start walking, of the trouble he would get into, but his resolve was already gone and the voice died down as soon as Tom managed to drag the covers down to Chris’ upper thighs and he could swear he saw the kid’s mouth water as his hungry gaze roamed all over Chris’ body before stopping on his fat prick.

Chris watched Tom’s right hand lower down between his lean thighs to pull on his foreskin, the glans already wet with pre-come as it peeked through the loose fold of skin. Tom began to stroke his cock, his mouth a tight line as he attempted to keep quiet. He jerked himself with slow, hesitant moves, and Chris could tell he was trying to take things slow, but in the end, Tom’s resolve didn’t last even 30 seconds and the hand on his cock grew bolder as he sought out his orgasm, greedy and impatient for it the way only a teenage boy could be.

The room was filled with Tom’s heavy breathing and slick, lewd noises as he pulled on his cock, stopping every once in a while to squeeze his hairless sack. His other hand came up to his chest to rub at his nipples, and Chris watched with keening eyes as the small nubs began to harden.

Tom never took his eyes off of Chris’ cock, which lay against his lower abdomen, engorged and leaking slightly at the tip. Chris could tell Tom was getting off on the sight and he felt himself swell and harden even further, wondering if he should just reveal that he was awake, because it was becoming increasingly hard not to touch himself.

Chris knew the boy was only moments away from coming from the way his shoulders began to hunch and part of him wanted to take Tom’s cock into his own hand and feel it pulse in his grip as it sprayed all over Chris’ fingers, but Tom was already thrusting up into his own fist, and a few strokes later, he was shooting his come on his heaving chest and belly.

Tom’s cheeks and the shells of his ears were flushed bright red and his mouth hung open as he tried to draw in huge gulps of air.

Chris decided he’d been patient enough.

“You like looking at my cock, boy?”

Tom jumped at the sound of Chris’ voice, the blush on his cheeks deepening and spreading all the way down to his chest.

“You were awake?” he stammered, trying to wipe away the traces of cooling come from his stomach.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Chris said, his voice soft from sleep, but firm enough to force an answer out of Tom.

Tom's eyes darted around the room, but he gave a small nod. “Yeah...”

Chris’ mouth split into a hungry smile and he reached out with his hand. “Come here.”

Tom snuggled against Chris’ right flank, pressing his cheek against his broad chest. His skin was hot and clammy with sweat and Chris could smell the lingering acrid smell of hair dye on him.

They both looked down, taking in the way Chris’ erection twitched and slapped against his stomach, the vein on the underside thick and bulging.

"You wanna help me with this?” he grinned, pointing at his cock.

Tom gave an eager nod and Chris took his small hand in his own to guide it down between his legs, sealing his cock inside Tom’s fist. He laid his own hand on top of it and they began to stroke his erection together, spreading the remaining come in Tom’s palm all over the thick shaft.

“Am I doing good?” Tom asked, turning his face up to meet Chris’ eyes.

Chris placed a soft kiss on Tom’s brow. “Yeah, boy, you’re doing real good. Just… Just use your fingers on the head a little more, ok? Like this.”

Chris let go of Tom’s hand to swirl two of his fingers on the crown, dipping his blunt nails in the slit and rubbing at the sensitive spot on the underside.

"Now you try," he said, and watched Tom mimic his actions with visible enthusiasm, his fingers nimble and soft. There was still a very distinct familiarity in the way the boy's hand moved on his cock that spoke of skill and practice an average kid Tom's age probably shouldn't have. Chris pushed the thought out of his mind, not wanting to risk losing his erection by dwelling on it for too long.

He noticed Tom had started to grind against his hip, the boy's cock already hard and almost ready to spill another load. Chris felt a little envious, remembering when he was Tom’s age and able to shoot several times a day. He fixed his hold on Tom’s hand, fucking into his fist.

“You want my come?"

Tom nodded.

"Let me hear you say it."

“I want your come,” Tom panted, thrusting his hips against Chris’ side, his prick hard and slick between their bodies.

Chris folded his arms behind his head to watch Tom swirl his fingers around the slick head and squeeze the taut, full sack, feeling its weight in his palm before going back to milking Chris as fast as he could manage.

“Get ready…”

“Wait!” Tom scrambled up to his knees and sealed his lips around Chris’ cock, taking it into his mouth just as the first spurt of come shot out. Chris placed his hand on Tom’s neck and kept his head down, thrusting into his lax mouth, feeling the way Tom was working to swallow every drop of Chris’ thick morning load.

He released his hold around Tom’s neck as soon as his cock had finished spilling, letting his fingers trail down to stroke between a pair of slightly protruding shoulder blades, tracing the many scars he found there with a gentle hand. 

Chris yawned, scratching his chest absently. “I could get used to waking up like this,” he mused, allowing Tom to crawl back into his arms.

The room was getting hot as the first rays of sunshine hit the window. The air smelled of sex and musk and Tom’s arousal. Chris could feel the boy’s cock pressing against his thigh, hard and persistent. He let his hand trail down to Tom’s round cheeks, stroking one finger between the cleft of his ass.

“Would you like me to finger you a little?”

Tom rocked into Chris’ hand, nodding eagerly.

Chris got up to get the stolen lube, kneeling on the bed between Tom’s spread thighs. He maneuvered the boy’s body so that his legs were bent at the knees and his ass was up in the air, his lower back resting against Chris’ thighs.

"Ready?” Chris asked, grabbing one of Tom’s ankles to hold his legs open.

"Ready."

Tom palmed his cock as he watched Chris pour lube to his hand, eyes full of anticipation. Chris stroked one slick finger against Tom’s hole, getting the small pucker and the surrounding skin slippery.

He could just imagine how it would feel to bury his cock in an ass this tight. If he ever made it back home with Tom, he’d spend his entire weekend in the bedroom, fucking the boy senseless.

 

“Relax for me,” Chris murmured, feeling his finger gradually sink in up to the second knuckle as Tom leaned his head against the pillows and allowed himself to become completely lax.

Chris fucked him with one finger until he could slide it deep enough to look for the small bundle of nerves, knowing he’d found it when Tom’s eyes went wide, his mouth falling open in a soundless gasp.

“Feels good, doesn't it?” Chris smiled, adding gentle pressure to the spot, causing Tom's cock to spill out a small dose of come on his belly. The boy hardly noticed when Chris worked in a second finger, too distracted by the newly found pleasure. Chris fucked him with two thick digits, adding more force to his thrusts as Tom's body began to accept his fingers with ease, withdrawing them every once in a while to make sure he wasn’t being too rough. Chris had big hands and he could see Tom’s hole was beginning to gape a little from the fingering, the skin around the rim red and just a little bit raw, and the sight went straight to Chris’ own cock.

“You want a third one?” he asked, holding up three fingers to show Tom how big they would be.

Tom eyed his hand, taking in the size and length of his glistening digits and Chris could tell the boy was wondering if they’d be as thick as his cock.

“You’ll be careful, right?” Tom asked.

“Of course,” Chris nodded, pouring more lube onto Tom's entrance while he gave his cock a few strokes to make sure it was still hard. “Ok, spread your cheeks for me.”

Chris pressed together three of his fingers, pushing inside as slowly as he could manage, his eyes flicking up to Tom’s face, ready to stop at the first sign of discomfort.

“Breathe,” he whispered when he noticed Tom was holding in his breath. “Breathe, boy.”

Tom let out a soft gasp, his chest falling and rising as he began to pant. Chris raised his brows, waiting for Tom to give him a sign that it was okay to continue.

“Deeper,” Tom sighed, fixing his hold on his cheeks to spread them wider.

Chris complied, stopping once his fingers were buried inside up to the third knuckle. “You’re taking them so good,” he praised, giving Tom’s slightly flagging erection a squeeze.

Tom’s small body was bent in half, his knees nearly touching the mattress as Chris fingered him, taking in the way Tom's soft features were twisting with pleasure. His gaze fixed on the red haematoma in Tom's eye and he reached out with his left hand, brushing his knuckles against the boy's bruised face.

“I’m gonna come,” Tom panted. "I'm gonna come." There was a soft wail and a wet spatter of come as it dribbled out, landing on Tom’s chest and neck.

Chris felt the spasms from Tom’s orgasm around his fingers as he continued to apply gentle pressure on his prostrate, milking out the rest of his release. He withdrew his fingers slowly, his eyes darkening with renewed lust as he watched the way Tom’s hole twitched for something to fill it, too loose to close properly.

Chris gave Tom's ass a light pat. “You ok?”

“Better than ok,” Tom breathed, reaching between his legs to feel how open Chris had left him. He watched Chris through heavy eyelids, eyeing his half-hard prick.

“We don’t have time for that now,” Chris laughed, glancing at the alarm clock. He moved to the windows to pull the faded curtains aside, “I have to be in Portland by noon to unload my cargo.”

 

**

 

Driving a truck across the country was a lonely job, and Chris was beginning to enjoy having some company on the road. Tom stayed quiet about his life in foster homes, but he turned out to be quite a talkative kid, curious about every place they passed on their way to Oregon, even if it was nothing but some backwater town in the middle of nowhere.

Chris made him wait in the sleeper while he unloaded his cargo and Tom obeyed, staying quiet and out of sight, reading the comics Chris had bought for him earlier.

They were back on the road by nightfall and the next couple of days went by in a blur. Chris told Tom about his job and he taught the boy the function of each meter on the dashboard, how to fill the fuel tanks and what the funny slang on the CB radio meant. He even let Tom fill out the log book every night before they went to bed and the kid seemed to take pride in the little responsibility Chris had entrusted him with.

It was close to dusk on the fourth day since Chris had made his delivery and he knew they were at the beginning of a long strip of nothing but open highway. He glanced to his right to see Tom asleep in his seat, his head lolling from side to side with the shaking of the truck. Chris had finally had the radio fixed before they started their drive home and he turned it on, fiddling with the buttons until he found a station that played old rock classics from his youth.

He watched Tom from the corner of his eye, laughing quietly at the way Tom’s hair was already forming curls in spite of the recent haircut. Tom looked restful and so young in his sleep that Chris had to look away and fix his eyes on the road ahead, a familiar guilt twisting his gut.

Chris still couldn’t understand what Tom saw in a middle-aged trucker like him. He guessed he had his own rugged charm, but it was obvious the kid had no reason to trust adults, and big, intimidating men like Chris probably should have put him on his guard, but Tom continued to crawl into his arms every night like a loyal puppy, hungry for Chris’ embrace.

Chris had asked the boy not to call him ‘daddy’ after the first night, but he had no doubt that Tom still saw him as some kind of a twisted replacement for a missing father figure. He continued to be eager for Chris’ approval and care, and Chris had to admit it was starting to invoke some sort of weird protective streak in him.

 

He saw a pair of bright headlights in the mirrors outside of his window, and as the other semi reached their side, the CB received a greeting from the driver. Chris took the mic in his hand and exchanged some of the usual chitchat with the guy. When the driver asked about the passenger in Chris’ truck, Chris told him Tom was his nephew, the lie slipping past his lips without a second thought.

The crackle of the radio woke Tom up and he stretched his arms, wrinkling his nose at Chris’ choice of music.

“My truck, my rules,” Chris reminded before Tom could protest or change the station.

Tom made a show of rolling his eyes, reaching for his backpack in the legroom. Chris had noticed Tom never let it out of his sight for long. He pulled out a bag of twizzlers and a can of soda Chris had bought for him at their last stop, chewing on them slowly.

“Where do you live?” Tom asked after a moment, his mouth full of candy, the sweet artificial smell reaching Chris’ nose.

“I live in Langdon. It’s a little place in North Dakota.”

“What’s your house like?”

“My house?”

“Yeah. Is it big?”

“It’s… average.” Chris felt a little embarrassed. His truck was in perfect shape, but he had never invested much in his house since he got to spend so little time at home. He wondered if Tom would be disappointed when he finally saw it.

“What about your bed? Is your bed big?”

“My bed is pretty big,” Chris grinned. He took a look in the mirrors to make sure there was no long line of traffic behind them before giving Tom a wry smile. “Hey, kid… You wanna drive a little?”

Tom’s eyes went wide and he nearly choked on his twizzler. “For real?”

“For real,” Chris laughed. He steered the truck to the side of the road and stopped long enough for Tom to open his seat belt and climb out of the passenger seat. “Come on,” Chris patted his thigh, inviting Tom to sit on his lap.

Tom squeezed himself behind the steering wheel and Chris had to suck in his stomach a little for Tom to fit on his lap. He took the boy's hands to the wheel and guided his foot to the gas pedal.

“I’ll worry about the clutch and the gear stick, ok?”

Chris helped Tom steer the truck back to the road, watching his excited face through the rear-view mirror as they drove down the open highway.

“This is so cool,” Tom exclaimed, grinning like a shark. “You have the best job in the world.”

Chris let him drive for a mile or two, enjoying the way Tom’s weight felt against his own body. He placed his left hand on top of Tom’s smaller one, leaning close to inhale the smell of his skin and the lingering traces of cheap shampoo in his hair. Tom's ass was pressed directly against Chris' crotch and there was nothing he could do to prevent his hips from thrusting up a little.

Tom didn't even seem to notice, too excited about getting to drive a truck, but Chris' mind was already wandering down a familiar dark path, eager to reach the end of today's drive.

 

**

 

Chris stared at the GPS. They were only 80 miles away from where he’d first met Tom six days ago. The boy seemed to be oblivious to their whereabouts, sitting in his seat with his feet pulled up, his nose buried in another comic.

Chris scratched his beard, becoming increasingly aware of the uneasy feeling in the back of his mind. The law required him to stop for eight hours, so he couldn’t just keep driving all night to get past the state line, and in the end, Chris made the decision to stop a little earlier than he’d planned to avoid spending the night in Denver.

Tom looked up from his comic book, giving Chris a confused look as he turned to the parking lot of a small truck stop. “Were stopping already? Don’t you have at least another two hours of driving left?” he asked, looking out of the window.

“I’m running on fumes, I think it’s better if we spend the night here,” Chris lied.

He parked the truck in the first empty spot he saw and they walked across the parking lot to the small diner.

Tom made a beeline for the video games in the back, spending some of the quarters Chris had given him on a game of Pac-Man while Chris found them an empty booth and ordered two sets of fries and burgers. Chris bought the local paper, skimming through the pages quickly, keeping his eyes open for news about fifteen year old runaways. There was no mention of Tom anywhere in the paper and Chris tossed it in the next booth, becoming a little more relaxed.

“I ran out of money,” Tom groaned, taking a seat across from Chris, trying to fit his knees between Chris’ long legs under the table.

“I’ll give you some more once I’ve paid for our dinner.”

The waitress brought them their food, and Chris dug into his greasy burger, starving after a full day of driving. He paused in his chewing when he noticed Tom wasn’t touching his own food.

“Something wrong with your burger?”

Tom shook his head, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. It hadn’t taken Chris long to learn that the gesture meant something was weighing on Tom’s mind.

“What is it?”

Tom poked at his burger with a long fry, lifting his gaze from the plate. “I’m sorry that you have to pay for everything…” he said, sounding embarrassed.

“Come on, Tom, I’ve told you it’s not a problem,” Chris said, “I know you don’t have any money and you don’t have to worry about it, ok?” He nudged at Tom’s plate, pushing it a little closer. “Now, eat your food before it gets cold.”

Tom was too hungry to resist and he emptied his plate faster than Chris, heading back to the video games as soon as Chris gave him more quarters.

“I’ll go take a leak and I’ll meet you at the truck,” Chris called after him.

 

He was gone only five minutes, but that was all it took for things to go south.

Chris walked out of the men’s room and froze in his step as soon as his eyes caught the blue glare outside of the diner windows.

There was a police car parked right in front of the doors.

Chris turned his eyes to the game machines to see two police officers dragging Tom through the diner, carrying him by his arms, ignoring Tom’s struggles and shouting.

The people in the diner were all staring and two teenagers in the booth near the doors had their cellphones out to take a picture as Tom was forced into the backseat of the police car. Chris could hardly comprehend what was happening, but he finally got his feet moving and he hurried out to the parking lot, stopping a safe distance away from the police car. The moment Tom noticed him through the back window, he began to bang his hands against the glass, calling for Chris.

“Please don’t let them take me!”

Chris shook his head, unable to respond as Tom continued to bang on the window, wet tears streaming down his cheeks.

“You know this kid?” one of the cops asked, starting to walk towards Chris.

Tom went quiet, his fists freezing against the window.

“Sir? Do you know him? Is he in your company?” the cop repeated.

Chris shook his head, the sudden wave of panic in his chest forcing him out of his shocked stupor. “I don’t know him,” Chris said, his voice hollow in his ears.

Tom stared at him through the window with his watery eyes.

“I don’t know him,” Chris repeated, turning around and walking away. He could still hear Tom calling for him, his hands hitting the window, and once he was far enough, Chris stopped to look over his shoulder, catching the taillights of the police car as it drove away from the parking lot, disappearing to the highway.

 

Chris sat in the dark cabin of his truck, staring out through the window at the passing cars. The small voice inside his head was back, telling him how very lucky he was for not having been caught in Tom’s company, reminding him that harboring an underage runaway could have landed him in jail, but the moment Chris saw Tom’s backpack in the passenger seat, the voice was gone, replaced by bone-deep disappointment.

 

**

 

It was snowing so thickly that Chris could barely make out his driveway and it took him a couple of tries before he managed to back his truck up to the garage in a somewhat straight angle. He pulled the key from the ignition and made a couple of notes in his log book before stepping out into the cold winter night with his dirty laundry bag in one hand.

He had spent the last seven days on the road and he could not wait to take a hot shower, order some takeout and kick back on the couch with a case of beer. He made his way across the snow-covered yard and looked to his right as he heard familiar barking behind the neighbor’s fence.

“Poor bastard,” Chris said to the German Shepherd on the other side, “did the old drunk leave you out again?”

The dog stood up on its hind legs to give Chris a pleading whine.

“Aww, come here,” Chris smiled, setting his dirty laundry on the ground, reaching over the fence to pick the anxious animal up in his arms. “You can’t stay out here in this weather.”

The dog dashed through the yard, eager to get inside the house. Chris peered through the snowfall as he noticed the animal had started sniffing at something on the porch. The dog's snout was poking at what looked like a large pile of clothes. "What the hell?" When Chris climbed up to his porch, he saw the lump resting against his front door was a person.

“Hey, get up,” he ordered, pushing the dog aside, kicking at the intruder’s feet with his boot. “This is private property.”

The person jolted awake, whining when Chris gave his shins another light kick. He assumed it was one of his neighbor’s old drinking buddies, passed out on the wrong side of the fence.

“Hey man, I’m not kidding-“ Chris froze when the person finally turned his face up. “ _Tom_? How the hell... What are you-“

“I turned eighteen last week,” Tom said, stumbling up to his feet. “I used all my money to get here…” His teeth were clattering almost uncontrollably. “Are you happy to see me?”

Chris just stared, unable to believe his eyes. The dog began to bark, startling Chris out of his stupor, and he finally dug out his keys from the pocket of his old parka.

The dog pushed inside as soon as the door was open, and Tom followed on its heels, but Chris was frozen to the spot, staring after Tom as his silhouette was swallowed by the darkness in the hallway.

“Are you coming in?” Tom called from inside the house.

Chris nodded absently, grabbing Tom’s duffel bag from the porch before stepping inside.

He turned on the lights and got his first proper look at Tom in over two years.

The kid was taller now, almost as tall as Chris, which was pretty impressive, but it was obvious even through the layers of clothes he wore that Tom was still on the skinny side. He removed his woolen cap to reveal a mass of sandy blonde curls and the way they fell on his forehead made him look deceivingly young. His face was slightly more angular now and Chris could tell Tom would have exceptionally sharp cheekbones once the lingering softness of youth melted away.

He was relieved to see there were no visible bruises or injuries on Tom’s face.

 

“You’re staring…” Tom laughed, looking a little self-conscious, his gaze dropping to his worn chucks.

Chris lowered his own gaze, shaking his head. “I just… I can’t believe you’re standing inside my house.” He set Tom’s bag on the floor and they began to undress. “How did you even know where I live?” Chris asked, hanging their coats in the small rack by the door.

“You told me, remember? All I needed was a bus ticket to Langdon and a phone book to find your home address. I got the hell out of Denver the day I turned eighteen.”

“You just up and left? What did your foster family have to say about that?”

“I don’t care,” Tom said. He sounded so angry and so final that Chris decided to drop the subject. He finally noticed just how raw Tom’s cheeks looked under the bright light in the hallway.

“Tom, how long were you waiting for me out there?”

“Since this afternoon…”

“It’s ten thirty in the evening!"

"I walked around some until it started to snow, but I didn't have enough money left to take a cab to a cafe or anything."

Chris shook his head in disbelief. "What if I hadn’t been back for another week? You could have frozen to death!” Chris saw Tom flinch and he took a deep breath, lowering his voice. “Sorry, I just… Look at you, you’re like an icicle,” he said, cupping Tom’s face in his hands. “You need to take a hot shower, get yourself warm.” Chris ushered Tom down the hallway. “I just got back from a haul so my fridge is pretty empty, but I’ll order us some takeout.”

 

**

Chris stood outside of the bathroom door long after Tom had closed it, listening to the sound of running water as his brain was slowly starting to catch up on what was happening.

Tom was in his house.

_Tom was in his house._

Chris looked around, a sudden burst of embarrassment heating up his face. You could tell by the general state of disarray in every room that he didn’t have guests very often. Chris began to dash around the house, picking up dirty clothes and old pizza boxes and empty beer bottles, trying to make the place more presentable.

 

Tom spent almost half an hour in the shower and the pizza delivery guy arrived just as Tom appeared in the kitchen, one of Chris’ old towels wrapped around his wiry frame.

Chris set the warm pizza boxes on the counter and allowed himself to stare for a moment, taking in the way Tom’s body had changed in the last two years. He still had the same slightly malnourished look about him, but Chris could already tell the boy would be gorgeous as he got older.

“Do you have any spare clothes with you?” Chris asked, dragging his eyes away from Tom’s naked chest.

Tom nodded, biting his lower lip in that familiar way of his. “I’ve got my entire life in that duffel bag.” He looked so nervous that Chris could guess the boy probably didn’t have anywhere else to go.

“Well, you can go dress in my bedroom. It’s right down the hall. Come into the living room when you’re ready and we’ll eat and watch some tv.”

 

**

 

They ate their food in silence, the white noise from the tv the only thing keeping the atmosphere from slipping from awkward to painfully awkward. Chris kept stealing glances at Tom when he thought the boy wasn’t looking, feeling his face heat up whenever their eyes accidentally met across the couch. It was ridiculous. He hadn’t felt this nervous since he’d been a fumbling teenager, trying to get into Judy Miller's pants for the first time in the back of his old man’s pickup truck.

Chris had given Tom a beer and the boy was sipping it like it was rainwater, visibly disgusted by the taste, but trying to appear to enjoy it. Chris had already downed two beers, but he was a little hesitant to open a third, thinking he should probably keep his head clear.

“You never answered my question,” Tom said suddenly, watching Chris from under his brows. “Are you happy to see me? Because I don’t think you are...”

Chris set his half-eaten slice of pizza back in the cardboard box on the coffee table. “I’m just really surprised. I never thought I’d see you again after that night at the truck stop.”

Chris frowned as the memory of Tom in a cop car came flooding to the surface after being shoved to the back of his mind for two years.

“When the cops came for you, there was nothing I could do but walk away unless I wanted to land my ass in jail, but I sure as hell didn’t think you’d want to see me again after I let them take you.”

“I don’t blame you,” Tom said, shaking his head, but Chris could detect the bitter anger in his tone. “Like you said, there was nothing you could do.” Tom spoke the words in a manner that sounded rehearsed, like he had repeated them to himself over and over until he finally believed them to be true.

“Yeah, well, I’m still sorry about it,” Chris said. He splayed his palm on Tom’s knee, feeling the warmth of his skin through the worn denim of his jeans. “And of course I’m happy to see you,” he added, giving the boy a reassuring smile.

 

**

 

Chris cleared the table and fed the scraps of pizza to the dog. He was exhausted from driving in shitty weather all day, and after having that third beer he could barely keep his eyes open.

Tom began to fidget on the sofa, eyeing the front door nervously. “So do you want me to leave or...?”

Chris shook his head. “Of course not. It’s freezing out there.” He had spent the last hour trying to figure out where he currently stood with Tom, and even though the boy had come to him willingly, what they had for those six days could hardly be called a relationship and Chris decided to offer Tom the couch.

He went to fetch a spare pillow and some blankets, and as he rummaged through the closet in the hallway, something in the top shelf caught his eye.

Tom’s old backpack.

He hadn’t expected to ever get a chance to return it, but Chris had kept it anyway, never having the heart to throw it away, knowing what it had meant to Tom. Inside were a few of the boy’s personal possessions: the comics Chris had bought for him while they had been on the road, a tooth brush, an old CD player and a stack of CDs, probably stolen, some marker pens and an old faded photo of Tom with a thin-looking woman in her late twenties who Chris had assumed to be Tom’s real mother. Tom was young in the picture, no more than four or five, and he had most likely been put in foster care at a very young age.

On the bottom of the backpack was a shabby old stuffed animal that looked like it had been a bear once, and a notebook that turned out to be a diary of sorts. Chris hadn’t read it, not wanting to pry on Tom’s personal thoughts. Not until he had gotten drunk off his ass one night after coming home from a haul.

The things he saw on the pages made Chris stomach turn. What Tom had been through, it was worse than Chris had thought. Much worse.

He had only made it through the first dozen or so entries before he’d been unable to continue, throwing the notebook across the room and passing out on the couch.

 

Chris pulled the backpack down from behind a stack of old 10-4 magazines and walked back into the living room where Tom was going through Chris’ old vinyl collection.

“I got you a pillow and some blankets. And I-- I also found this,” Chris said, handing Tom his old backpack.

The boy’s eyes went wide with delighted disbelief. “You kept it?” Tom gasped. "I never thought I’d see this again." He pulled out the stuffed animal and pressed it against his nose, smiling at Chris from behind its fuzzy fur. “Thank you.”

Chris shrugged, waving his hand dismissively. Tom set the bear aside to go through the rest of the contents and Chris could see how relieved the boy looked when he saw the old photograph of his mother was still there.

“This is the only picture I have of her,” Tom said, his voice thick.

Chris felt his palms grow sweaty as he watched Tom pull out the notebook. Some of the pages had been torn off when Chris had thrown the diary across the living room, the covers barely holding together.

Tom’s cheeks turned beet red when he noticed.

“Did you… Did you read it?”

Chris felt ashamed for intruding on Tom’s private thoughts, but he was no liar. “I did read some of it, yeah,” he admitted. “I'm sorry.”

Tom squeezed his eyes shut, shoving the diary back into the bottom of the backpack. “I should just burn it.”

It had been obvious from the start that Tom was unwilling to talk about his past, and Chris had no idea what to say, the situation suddenly beyond uncomfortable. He watched as Tom began to make himself a bed on the couch, too embarrassed to look Chris in the eye.

They said their awkward goodnights soon after.

“I’ll be right down the hall if you need me,“ Chris whispered, turning the lights off.

 

** 

Chris kept tossing around in his bed, unable to think of anything but the fact that Tom was in his house, sleeping just down the hall from him. Chris couldn’t believe the kid had tracked him down. He wondered how long Tom had been planning it, if he’d been waiting to turn eighteen so he could finally come to Chris without getting them into trouble or if he’d appeared on his doorstep simply because he had nowhere else to go and he knew his sob story had worked on Chris once before.

He crossed his arms behind his head, watching the thick snowfall through a small crack in the curtains.

It was obvious Tom had been hurt by the way Chris had just walked away when Tom had been taken by the cops, but he didn't blame the kid for being angry with him, because what fifteen year old would think of Chris' point of view in a situation like that? Chris had probably been just another grownup who had abandoned Tom and betrayed his trust.

The thought reminded Chris that there were almost three decades between them. Tom may have been past the official age of consent, but Chris was still old enough to be his father and the neighbors would definitely talk if he had a barely legal teenager living under his roof. And Chris still had to spend most of his time on the road. Would Tom come with him? Or would he pine at home like most people who were stupid enough to get involved with someone who drove a truck for a living? Would Chris even be able to share his life with another person after all the long years he’d spent alone?

There were so many issues to worry about, but they all seemed to fade into the night when Chris remembered the sight of Tom’s half naked body in his kitchen.

 

It was somewhere between three and four am when the creaky floorboard in the hallway made a sound, too loud to be caused by the dog. Chris had left the door ajar and he watched as it was pushed open, the darkness in the hallway spilling into the bedroom.

Tom slipped in, lingering at the foot of the bed. They watched each other in the cool blue darkness as Tom shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Chris could tell he wore nothing but his white briefs.

He leaned against his elbows and lifted the covers aside in an invitation.

Tom accepted it and they didn’t even pretend to act like he was there to sleep. Chris wrapped his arms around Tom’s back and parted his thighs to allow the boy to climb on top of him. He traced his fingers up along Tom's spine, mapping out the shape of his body, sinking his hands in his soft curls to pull him down for a long, exploring kiss. 

Tom's feet were freezing and they both laughed at the way Chris jumped when they brushed against his calves.

“Your beard itches,” Tom whispered, pulling back from the kiss.

Chris stroked his thumb across Tom’s soft cheeks. “Sorry,” he smiled. “I’ll shave in the morning, ok?”

Chris lowered one hand between them to rub Tom through the briefs, feeling the wet spot that had already seeped through the thin fabric at the front. Chris was naked under the covers and he hurried to drag Tom's underwear down his long legs until the boy could kick them off. He grabbed the soft mounds of Tom’s ass, squeezing them in his palms, forcing the boy’s hips down to grind their cocks together.

 

“I wanna fuck you,” Chris breathed, using his hand to slip his dick between the cleft of Tom’s ass.

“Yes,” Tom sighed, rolling his hips to press against Chris' cock, “fuck me.”

Chris let out a satisfied groan, the friction and the feel of another body so good after weeks of nothing but a pile of old magazines and his own hand. He ground his hips against Tom’s ass, using his hands to keep the cheeks together, but the moment the head of his cock pushed at Tom's entrance, slipping halfway in, the boy let out a loud whine.

“Sorry,” Chris panted, blinking his eyes open, “I think I have some lube in the nightstand.”

He lifted Tom off his lap and rolled over to rummage through the drawer in the small nightstand, fishing out a bottle of lube, relieved to see it was still almost half full. There was a pack of condoms at the back and Chris held it up for Tom.

“You want me to use one? I’m clean, but I’ll put one on if that’s what you want.”

Tom shook his head, taking the condoms ans setting them on the nightstand. “I wanna feel you.”

Chris sat up in the bed and moved to kneel between Tom’s parted legs, aware of a sudden nervous tension in the air.

“Tom, have you ever done this before?“

Tom shook his head. “No, not this.” He looked a little apprehensive. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Of course not,” Chris laughed. If anything, the thought of taking Tom’s virginity made his cock hard. “Ok, I need you to spread your legs for me,” Chris instructed, “yeah, just like that,” he nodded as Tom bent his knees and parted his thighs as wide as they would go.

Chris pumped a generous portion of lube on his hands and fingers, spreading it over his cock, his eyes roaming on Tom's body. He could tell the patch of light hair around the base of Tom's erection was thicker than it had been, and as he gave Tom’s hard prick a tug, feeling its weight and warmth in his grip, he noticed it filled his palm a little better than two years ago.

Despite the slight nervousness, Tom was eager to be fucked and it didn’t take long before Chris’ fingers were sliding into his body without any resistance.

“Touch yourself,” Chris urged, fucking Tom with two fingers, watching as the boy took his cock in his hand and began to rock into his own fist.

Tom’s heavy breathing grew into low, satisfied moans when Chris’ found his prostate and Chris continued to massage it for a while, the satisfied little pants Tom let out making his own cock swell.

“Ok, I think you’re ready for me,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss the shell of Tom’s ear.

Tom welcomed Chris in his arms, wrapping them around his broad shoulders and muscular back, reminding him just how eager Tom had been for him from the moment they’d met. And this time, it wasn’t just Tom who was ready. They hardly knew each other, but Chris was willing to see what this night would lead them to, to give it a proper try.

 

“So eager,” Chris laughed, combing his fingers through Tom’s curls as the boy began to rock against Chris’ body. He could feel the head of his cock rubbing against Tom's perineum before he was able to take hold of it and guide it to Tom's opening.

Tom let out a loud gasp at the feel of Chris’ erection sinking inside him, the girth and size of it spreading him open even wider than the fingers before.

“You need a moment?”

Tom wrapped his legs around Chris’ lower back, pulling him closer. He reached down to where their bodies were joined, running his fingers around the rim before stroking them up along Chris' back. "I'm good."

The boy may have been inexperienced, but Chris knew how to handle a virgin. He established a steady rhythm, thrusting a little deeper every time he slid into Tom's body, controlling his moves and reigning back some of his strength, not wanting to leave Tom too sore from his first proper fuck.

The springs in the bed kept creaking under their combined weight and Chris' rocking. The sound was so loud that Chris thought he might finally have to buy a new bed if he didn't want the neighbors to hear his nighttime activities.

Tom's cock pulsed under the weight of Chris’ slightly rotund midsection as Chris ground down, meeting the roll of Tom’s hips, fucking the boy good and deep, and a moment later, there was a wet sensation spreading against his stomach as Tom spurted out a warm load between their bodies.

Chris had wanted Tom to see his face when he took the boy's virginity, but the considerable size difference between them and the way Chris' elbows and knees kept sinking into the old mattress made the position a little awkward and he pulled out long enough to turn to lie on his back.

“Come on, boy, ride me,” Chris urged, taking a hold of Tom’s narrow hips to pull him down on his arousal.

Tom began to bounce on his lap, his half-hard cock slapping against his stomach, and Chris would have loved to fuck him for hours, but it had been a while since he’d gotten laid and his dick went off without a warning, shooting inside Tom’s body. He could feel some of his come leaking out as Tom continued to ride him, and the boy let out a little whine when Chris' softening prick slipped out. Chris quickly replaced it with three of his fingers, stuffing them inside Tom’s loose opening, letting the kid fuck himself on Chris hand until he finally came over his stomach.

Tom sank down to nuzzle against Chris' face, breathing in his scent like he had done with the old teddy bear earlier. 

"Do I have to go back to the couch?" 

Chris snorted, amused by the question, but he realized Tom was being serious when the boy's hold around his shoulders tightened. He pressed his palm against Tom's neck, stroking his soft curls. "You can stay for as long as you like." 

Chris could feel Tom's lips move against his ear as he whispered: "Do you think I'm a useless waste of space?" 

It wasn't hard to guess who had put the thought in Tom's head and Chris felt his temper flare. He wrapped his arms around Tom's narrow shoulders, pressing his lips against his sweaty temple. "No, I don't. You're my good boy." 

**

 

There was something wet and warm poking against Chris' fingers. He blinked his eyes open and saw the neighbors’ dog licking his left hand, which was hanging over the edge of the bed. The dog’s cold nose and sour breath were enough to wake Chris up.

“Scram,” he muttered, shoving the animal away from the bed. The dog barked once and disappeared into the hallway.

As Chris rolled over to his back, he noticed the other side of the bed was empty and the sheets were cold. But there was also a distinct smell of bacon and eggs in the air.

He pulled on a pair of long johns and shoved his feet into his old slippers, knowing how cold the floors were in the winter. Chris shuffled to the kitchen, stopping at the door when he saw Tom standing in front of the stove with a wooden spatula in his hand.

Chris felt his mouth water at the smell of freshly cooked breakfast. He couldn’t even remember the last time someone had made him breakfast in this house, and Tom looked so homely standing there in one of Chris’ old flannel shirts and a pair of his boxers

“Morning,” Chris said, stepping into the kitchen.

Tom jumped and dropped the spatula as he spun around. “Chris, I- I wanted to,” he sputtered, crouching down to retrieve the spatula, “I mean, I saw you had some eggs in the fridge and I thought I could make you breakfast, you know, to thank you for letting me stay and-“

Chris silenced Tom with a soft kiss, his hands sliding up and down along the boy's flanks until he relaxed and leaned into Chris’ embrace.

“I didn’t know how you take your eggs, so I hope scrambled is ok.”

“Scrambled is perfect,” Chris smiled. He took a seat at the table that Tom had set for him, watching Tom fill their plates with eggs and bacon. There was even a fresh pot of coffee and Chris felt like pinching himself to make sure he wasn't still dreaming.

Tom sat down in the opposite seat and they emptied their plates in comfortable silence, feeding an occasional scrap to the dog who sat by the table, its eyes huge and pleading.

Chris took a sip of coffee from his mug and reached over the small linoleum table to cover Tom’s hands with his own. “I could really get used to this,” he smiled.

Tom squeezed Chris’ hand and returned the smile.


End file.
